


The One Where They're All Superheroes

by RadiantSeraphina (Lady_Arrowwood)



Series: It's an Alternate Universe, Kirby! [1]
Category: Kirby (Video Games), Kirby - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Ambiguous Relationships, Gen, Holding Bruce Wayne Hostage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 20:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13508748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Arrowwood/pseuds/RadiantSeraphina
Summary: Based upon a request for: Meta Knight, Kirby, and Dedede in a superhero AU.





	The One Where They're All Superheroes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [neminine](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=neminine).



Kirby Stellarum rocked twisted the cord to his headphones, humming in beat with his music as he walked down the sidewalk. He was a young man with bubblegum-pink hair and blue eyes. Those who knew Kirby casually called him cute and excitable. No one knew Kirby very well, and no one knew that Kirby had magical powers, which allowed him to Copy the essence of anything he touched. Through this, he could master objects and had numerous incredible powers at his disposal. Kirby knew not where such a power came from. It had been there as long as he could remember, which—admittedly—wasn’t very far back.

 

Unfortunately, his powers didn’t alert him when he was about to be run down and shoved to the ground on a busy sidewalk. Dull, heavy pain erupted in Kirby’s shoulder, and he fell, wincing from the impact. His assailant—a man with short, brown hair—ran past.

 

“Sorry!” he shouted over his shoulder.

 

Kirby watched, bewildered. At the point where you were going to knock someone to the ground and just run away, was an apology really worth anything? Sure, Kirby wasn’t injured. Well, maybe he was a little sore, but he’d walk it off. But _still_.

 

“Are you all right?”

 

A man in a very nice navy suit and wool coat approached, but it wasn’t the suit that Kirby noticed first. It was the man’s short, midnight-blue hair. It cut his face nicely—highlighting the wide, gold eyes and soft, elfish features—and contrasted well with his jasper-brown skin. He looked like a very wealthy sort of man—like the son of a senator. That might be why something about his face looked so familiar. “Meta Knight,” he said, offering his hand.

 

Kirby let Meta Knight help him to his feet. “Kirby Stellarum.”

 

“A pity that manners are so rare these days, isn’t it?” Meta Knight asked. “How unspeakably rude of that young man.”

 

“I’m sure he was just in a hurry,” Kirby replied. “I mean, if that’s the worst thing that happens to me, I’m doing great! It’s my first day in the kitchen at the opera house, so…”

 

Meta Knight laughed. “I’m on my way to the opera, too. Small world, hm? So what is it you do in the kitchens?”

 

“Well, I’m just washing dishes. It’s not the dream job, but I’m trying to get a foot in the door and pay my way through culinary school. I want to be a famous pastry chef!”

 

“I see. Well, I hope this is the worst that happens to you, then,” Meta Knight said.

 

“Yeah! Maybe I’ll—um—see you there? You’re going to see the show, right?”

 

“Mmhm. And I should be going. I have some business to attend to before it starts,” Meta Knight said, “But good luck. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

 

Kirby nodded as Meta Knight walked to a sleek, purple and silver motorcycle that probably cost more money than Kirby would ever make in his life. It seemed odd, though, that a man like Meta Knight would get around on a motorcycle rather than having someone drive him around everywhere. And there was still some indistinct, vague memory conjured by Meta Knight’s name or face, or maybe his stunningly, metallic gold eyes. Kirby shook his head. He was surely imagining it; he’d remember if he’d met someone who looked like _that_.

 

* * *

 

 

The opera house was a glamorous place with gilded walls, plush carpets, and crystal chandeliers. Kirby was quickly ushered into the kitchens, which was much less glamorous, but this was Kirby’s world—the world of shining, steel tables and sinks. The world of spices, bustle, and ovens. At least, that _would_ be Kirby’s world. Right now, it was a world of dirty dishes and soap-bubbles, but at least, their soap didn’t irritate Kirby’s skin and had a delicate, lemongrass smell. Kirby may have also Copied the essence of the soap, thereby making him the most efficient dishwasher ever. He’d been at it for hours, diligently washing crystal wine glasses, delicate porcelain, and silver cutlery.

 

The kitchen manager tapped his shoulder. “Do you want to go ahead and take a break, Stellarum?”

 

Kirby nodded. “Yeah! That’d be great!”

 

“Wonderful. You have thirty minutes.”

 

Kirby drained the water and wiped his hands on his apron. He slipped out past the lobby; the show had already begun, and the lobby would be empty until the intermission. Thirty minutes wasn’t enough time to really go anywhere, and Kirby had leftovers in the fridge at his apartment. Unfortunately, his budget was very tight.

 

Because he’d never been to the opera before, he decided to have a look around, so he walked down the hallways, peering in open doors. He hadn’t dropped his ability, so as he walked, the halls magically cleaned themselves. Dust vanished in his wake, spider webs fell into nothingness, and the gilded tables and silver-backed mirrors polished themselves into purity.

 

Kirby drifted into the room where all the costumes for previous shows were kept. It was a large room, and Kirby’s eyes were dazzled by the colors and variety. He drifted through painstakingly embroidered gowns of silk, satin, and velvet, through bejeweled doublets, crushed velvet capes, and delicate fairy wings. Kirby, admittedly, knew little of how the opera functioned, so he wasn’t sure how often these costumes were used. Surely, the opera would recycle them, though; any one of them looked like it would pay for culinary school.

 

The overhead crackled. “Hello, everyone!” a cheerful, bird-like voice declared. “You’ll all want to make your way towards the nearest exits. I’m Susie, and I’m taking over the show!”

 

Susie? Taking over? Kirby frowned and wrinkled his nose.

 

“I’m sure all of you remember me, Haltmann Works’ beautiful secretary. I have taken over this lovely opera house downtown. Such a beautiful place, isn’t it? It’s girl’s night at the opera, so here’s the deal. I will give M’Lady one hour to reveal her actual identity on live TV. If she misses the deadline, I suppose we’ll see if Meta Knight here really _does_ have brains. And of course, if anyone else interferes, I’ll be forced to take drastic action.”

 

Meta Knight? Haltmann Works?

 

Oh. Oh, _Nova._ Everyone knew about Haltmann Works. It’d been the largest company in Dreamland until it was discovered that Haltmann Works was also deeply involved in superhuman trafficking and experimentation. M’Lady had been the one to figure it out. She’d raided one of Haltmann Works’ facilities through dubiously legal means, and after arrests were made, she’d given the entire story to a fledgling reporter that no one had ever heard of.

 

These people were very, _very_ dangerous.

 

Kirby took a deep breath. Once he managed to push past the initial wave of _dear Nova, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening,_ bitter, terrifying concern gripped Kirby. What if Meta Knight _died_? What if M’Lady didn’t come through? What if she was away or not watching TV or saving someone else? And here was Kirby, with his mysterious powers, powers that allowed him to master any skill, and a room full of costumes.

 

This was a bad idea. This was a _brilliant_ idea. This could save Meta Knight.

 

* * *

 

 

Meta Knight’s weekend plans hadn’t involved being zip-tied to a throne-like chair. It was unfortunate Susie had chosen to bind his wrists to the arms of the chair. If she’d bound his wrists together, he might’ve been able to snap the cable ties. She’d bound his ankles to the legs of the chair, too, something he observed with a sort of detached, clinical interest. He felt like he was choking on the gag in his mouth. Realistically, Meta Knight knew he wasn’t choking, and the feeling was more the result of past experiences, but even that cold acknowledgment failed to calm his racing heart.

 

Susie sauntered in, as disarmingly cute as Meta Knight remembered her. He’d once thought he might be able to win her over. When they’d met, she’d seemed so girlish and innocent. He’d naively hoped that—perhaps—she knew nothing about what Haltmann Works was really doing and that once she figured it out, she’d help him. Meta Knight had never been so wrong about another person’s character.

 

Her heels clicked as she walked onto the stage. She had the nerve to put a hand on his face and pop out her hip as if she’d just happened upon him and wanted to chat. Susie had always been inappropriately conversational.

 

“What do you think, Meta Knight? I’m like a glamorous _femme fatale_ , hm?” she asked, winking and flipping her hair.

 

Meta Knight pretended to ignore her and tried to see if he could move the gag with his mouth. It was some sort of cloth and smelled like lavender and peaches, and while he could probably laugh with Dedede later over Susie gagging him with something that smelled so much like a Glade plug-in, the smell was beginning to make him feel nauseous. There was no hope for getting free of the cable ties—not the way Susie had used them.

 

“Don’t choke,” Susie said.

 

Meta Knight scowled, which Susie seemed to observe with amusement.

 

She seized his jaw, her nails digging into his skin, and forced his head back. Susie’s eyes remained on his face as her free hand trailed down and unbuttoned his shirt. Meta Knight suppressed a shudder. He was determined to keep his composure. This was just a threat. Just a threat meant to make him uncomfortable.

 

Her hand was frigid on his bare chest. Meta Knight bit down on the gag as if that would somehow make everything more bearable. It was just touching. She wasn’t even hurting him. This was fine. This was _expected_. Even when he’d been her prisoner, Susie had been uncomfortably and creepily flirtatious.

 

“You tattooed over it,” Susie said, her eyes darting down.

 

Of course, he had. The inked _M-7110_ on his collarbone had been a horrific reminder of months of imprisonment and torture every time he saw his reflection.

 

“ _Per ardua ad astra_. I suppose you thought that was symbolic somehow? You weren’t conquering adversity when I saw you last.”

 

Meta Knight shrugged. He’d had a good retort ready if he’d been able to say it.

 

“I’m disappointed. I didn’t give you a tattoo, so you could replace it with some third-rate public school’s motto.” Susie paused. “On one hand, I’m sure being unable to make snide remarks is killing you, but, on the other hand, I’m curious to know what you’re thinking right now. You know what will happen if no one saves you, right?”

 

The thought of it sent a shiver down his spine, but beyond that, he also knew that Galaxia—dearest, lovely Galaxia—would never, ever abandon him. Revealing her identity would be her last resort, but if she’d exhausted every option and was facing down failure, Galaxia would do it. She’d saved him from Susie once before, and she’d do it again without question. And if something kept Galaxia away, Dedede was sure to come, hammers blazing.

 

Susie traced Meta Knight’s collarbone with her thumb. “It really is a pity what happened to you,” Susie said. “All that time and effort, and you never manifested any sort of powers. Considering what your father could do, you should’ve been the perfect test subject. So why weren’t you?”

 

Meta Knight swore at her, but, of course, the words didn’t make it past the gag.

 

Susie strode around behind him and leaned close to his ear. “I’ll let you speak to me, but there will be very painful consequences if you bite me,” she said.

 

She undid the gag and dropped it in his lap. It was a blindingly pink scarf. “Did you gag me with something you pulled out of your closet?” he asked. “That’s _very_ threatening.”

 

“It’s the same scarf I wore the day my father died.”

 

“Poetic. And you made fun of my tattoo,” Meta Knight said. “Ugh. You have atrocious taste in fabric softener, too.”

 

“ _Careful_ ,” Susie said.

 

Meta Knight felt the muzzle of her gun against his jaw. “Or what? You’ll shoot me? How will you incentivize M’Lady to come, then? You won’t kill me.”

 

“Do you want to take the risk?” Susie asked.

 

He tilted his head away and looked at the handgun. “You left the safety on.”

 

Susie shoved the gun into the waistband of her slacks. She, then, pulled over a metal, folding chair and sat in it. “Do you think she’ll do it?” Susie asked.

 

“She doesn’t need to. She’ll just come here and rescue me.”

 

“You sound so sure of that. Just how well _do_ you know her?” Susie asked.

 

“I don’t, but she’s a superheroine. Saving people is sort of her thing. If you were smart, you’d release me and flee. You’re out of your league trying to face someone like _her_.”

 

Susie’s lips curved into a smile. “You know I appreciate a challenge. That’s why I chose you as my pet project. I’ll enjoy breaking you again.”

 

“You’ll enjoy prison,” Meta Knight replied.

 

“No, I don’t think so,” Susie said. “She might be a superheroine, but M’Lady isn’t invincible. And as we both know, neither are you.”

 

“Neither are you.” Meta Knight paused. “Just like your father.”

 

Susie’s face reddened, but she painted a careful, cheery smile on her face. “I have tapes,” she said.

 

“Of what?”

 

“Of poor Nightmare Nocturne,” Susie said. “Bodycams, you know. If it’s any consolation, he put up a fight after you left him.”

 

Meta Knight dug his nails into the palms of his hands. _Breathe in, breathe out. Smile. Don’t let her know how you really feel._

 

Susie tilted her head like a curious child. “Does it keep you up at night knowing you fled and left him to be slaughtered?”

 

No, because he took medicine to help him sleep.

 

“And what? If M’Lady doesn’t save me, you’re going to make me watch my father die? I was sixteen and unarmed when you attacked my father. _You_ were a grown woman in a facility with countless weapons and superhumans, and you still fled. I have no guilt over leaving my father. Maybe you ought to stop trying to project all your guilt and insecurities onto me.”

 

But even as he said it, Meta Knight felt like he was _there_. He was young and confused, and his father—the Dimensional Cape thrown over his pajamas—shook him awake. Father’s skin was as pale as moonlight in darkness; his face had been furrowed and flushed with panic, blood beneath his skin dotting splotches over his fine cheekbones. “Meta Knight, you need to run,” he said. “You need to run very far away and never come back. Do you understand?”

 

No, because he was still sleepy and rustled from his dreams.

 

Father grasped Meta Knight’s shoulder, panic making the gesture rough. “I’ll find you again. You have to run, and you can’t stop running. There’s money in the car. Take it and _go_. You need to disappear. Don’t trust anyone, okay?”

 

“But I don’t—”

 

But it didn’t matter. Nightmare pulled Meta Knight from his bed and dragged him after him. The familiar hallways seemed suddenly ominous, painted with shadows that moved unnaturally, twisted by Nightmare’s own panic and exertion.

 

And then, there was glass shattering and an explosion, or an explosion and glass, just a burst of noise and breaking and sharpness because some of it struck Meta Knight. His shoulder and cheek stung. Nightmare swore and shoved Meta Knight behind him. “Run!” Nightmare shouted. “Go!”

 

He did run, but that wasn’t enough.

 

“No guilt at all?” Susie asked.

 

Meta Knight met her gaze evenly. “None,” he said.

 

“I don’t like being lied to.”

 

“And I don’t like being tied to a chair. Misery loves company, I suppose.”

 

Susie stood and patted Meta Knight’s cheek. “I have something you’ll like even less,” she said, her face brightening. “How do you feel about electricity these days?” 

 

* * *

 

 

Meta Knight’s head was bent forwards and his chin tucked against his chest. His shirt was open and pushed down past his shoulders. Kirby had expected bruises or some sign of a beating. His skin was unmarred, but he was so _still_. Was he dead? Tentatively, Kirby untied the knot at the scarf around Meta Knight’s mouth and pulled it away. Meta Knight coughed, his chest shaking with the force of it.

 

“Meta Knight? Uh—I mean, er, citizen—”

 

Slowly, Meta Knight looked up.

 

“Kirby?”

 

Kirby self-consciously toyed with his mask, a silk, pink one that he’d tied around his eyes. He’d thought his outfit—a green hat and cape, both lined with stars, a pink tunic, and leggings—combined with the mask had looked very superhero. And very full-proof. He’d even opted for the heeled, fantasy-movie type boots to complete it. Kirby had also found a prop sword, and after Copying its essence, it had sharpened into a real, combat-ready weapon. This had been a _good_ idea and a good disguise, but Meta Knight seemed to have seen through it just so clearly.

 

“I don’t know what you—”

 

“It’s _obviously_ you,” Meta Knight said, throwing his head back. “I met you this morning. How many men do you think I know with pink hair? You shouldn’t—this is too dangerous.”

 

“But she hurt you!” Kirby whispered. “I heard you scream.”

 

Meta Knight’s face softened. “It was just a stun gun.”

 

“But how many times did she use it?”

 

“Well, I didn’t bother to count. I was a bit preoccupied with screaming,” Meta Knight replied with a flutter of edged laughter. “It hurts, but it doesn’t have any lasting effects. I’ll be fine.”

 

Kirby nervously looked at the blood on Meta Knight’s wrist.

 

“But fine. You’re here. Cut me free,” Meta Knight said. “We’ll save M’Lady the trouble.

 

Carefully, Kirby edged the blade in between the cable tie and Meta Knight’s wrist. There was blood, and Kirby’s heart twisted in sympathy. The cable tie gave way to the sword, and a second later, they heard a voice.

 

“Hide!” Meta Knight snapped.

 

The only place _to_ hide was behind Meta Knight’s chair. Kirby ducked behind it, even though he doubted it would fool anyone.

 

“Hello, Susie,” Meta Knight said. “You look a bit frazzled.”

 

“So you worked the gag loose, hm?”

 

“I was bored.”

 

“You won’t be soon. Since you ask, it’s a minor set-back,” Susie said. “It’s nothing you need to worry about, but if we’re going to put on a show, I’d like to have everything _perfect_.”

 

The sounds of movement. Wheels shrieking.

 

“I didn’t realize you had such an interest in filmography.”

 

“I learned it just for this situation,” Susie replied.

 

Something moved beneath Kirby’s feet. He realized too late that he was crouching on an extension cord, and Susie peered around the chair. For a second, they stared at one another. “Um, hi?” Kirby tried.

 

Kirby stood and backed away, his sword ready.

 

“And who are you?” Susie asked.

 

Kirby had expected Susie to be a tall, imposing woman clad in lots of leather or shiny PVC. Something very flamboyantly villainess. But she was anything but. She was petite and dressed like a businesswoman in a white pantsuit. She looked very average, save for her magenta hair. _This_ woman, with wide, adore-me blue eyes and a soft, delicate face, was the same woman who’d bound Meta Knight to a chair and threatened to kill him?

 

“You’re adorable!” Kirby blurted out.

 

Susie drew a pink handle from her front pocket. It erupted into a blade of crackling, pink electricity. “You, too, Pinky.”

 

She lunged. Kirby brought his blade up to parry and yelled in surprise as the electricity arced up his sword. He dropped his weapon and backed away. No matter how skilled of a swordsman he was, Kirby couldn’t change the fact that metal was an _excellent_ conductor. Susie’s blade sliced across Kirby’s thigh. It struck deep and drew blood, but Kirby Copied the power. When Susie raised her blade again, Kirby caught it with his bare hand.

 

The electricity crackled around his arm and passed harmlessly through it. With her free hand, Susie reached behind her back. Her eyes widened.

 

A clatter. Susie’s gun had fallen to the ground a couple of feet from where Meta Knight sat. Meta Knight’s eyes were wide. “Dammit,” he said.

 

“To think you’d shoot a woman in the back,” Susie said. “I’m surprised.”

 

Susie kept her sword pointed at Kirby as she backed towards the gun, but before she could retrieve it, the doors burst open, smacking the wall with a reverberating boom. The Masked King strode in, wearing his signature silver armor and regal, scarlet robe.

 

“You’re gonna be finished, Haltmann! You’re about to be in for a royal beating!”

 

Susie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Great. You,” she deadpanned. “What is it with men having to be a part of everything?”

 

“I don’t recall asking to be a part of this. I just wanted to watch an opera,” Meta Knight pointed out.

 

“Meta Knight, ain’t it?” the King asked. “We gotta stop meeting like this.”

 

“That’s on you,” Meta Knight said. “Maybe you should come to my house someday instead?”

 

The King winked. “It’s a date, hot stuff!”

 

“Don’t hold your breath,” Susie said, pulling a remote from her jacket pocket.

 

The stage seemed to rumble, and from the lights overhead, a half-dozen robots descended. In color, they were grey-blue, a capital red ‘H’ stamped upon them. Kirby raised his hand and released lightning towards them. His powers struck one and brought it down with a burst of noise. It fell in a heap of metal.

 

The King leaped forward and swung his massive, trademark hammer. Metal fell before him like rain in a cacophony of screaming metal. Susie ran towards the gun. Kirby made to follow, but pain shot up his leg. He winced, and in the brief moment of hesitation, a robot approached him. His hand shot out, felling it with lightning.

 

Susie had the gun.

 

Kirby grabbed his sword from the floor and sliced through the cable tie binding Meta Knight’s other wrist to the chair. “You need to run,” Kirby said.

 

The King’s hammer destroyed another robot. Kirby managed to slice through the cable tie around one of Meta Knight’s ankles, cutting him in the process. As Kirby’s sword fumbled with the other, Meta Knight crouched beside him. “You’re bleeding badly,” Meta Knight said.

 

“I’ll be fine. I, at least, have powers,” Kirby said. “You need to run.”

 

Meta Knight was free.

 

“Don’t move!” Susie shouted.

 

 _Crash_. The room fell into darkness, and in a split, shining second, light burst forward. When the darkness faded, the robot was in pieces. In the shell of the twisted and still-smoldering metal, stood M’Lady. Her gold-colored armor shined like faceted diamonds beneath the stage lights. “You rang?” she asked.

 

M’Lady stepped elegantly from the wreckage. Another robot rushed towards her, but it wasn’t nearly fast enough. M’Lady swept her arm out, a blade of fire appearing as if drawn the air itself. It swept through the robot and sliced it in half. It fell to the ground with an ear-splitting shriek and the smell of burning metal.

 

 “Did she hurt you, Meta Knight?” M’Lady asked.

 

“I may need to have a couple buttons resewn on my shirt,” Meta Knight replied. “My…friend here might need stitches.”

 

M’Lady stepped forward. “Hmm,” she said. “Then, I’ll take _great_ pleasure in ending this.”

 

“You’ll end nothing,” Susie said. “You wouldn’t surrender your identity. He’s about to be executed. You killed my father. Now you’re going to learn how it feels to watch someone die.”

 

“Your dad was a freaking human trafficker that experimented on children!” the King snapped. “The son of a gun had it coming to ‘im!”

 

“You know nothing about it,” Susie said, pointing the gun towards Kirby and Meta Knight. “You can’t possibly get to me fast enough. Someone will die. Pick one.”

 

Kirby’s heartbeat reverberated in his skull. This was how it ended. So _quickly_. He felt like he might be sick. He hadn’t been ready for this. He should’ve thought it out more. At least, Meta Knight might survive, though.

 

“You can get out of the way,” Kirby whispered.

 

Meta Knight leaned closer. “Save your energy. She can’t kill us with an empty chamber.”

 

 _Click_.

 

Meta Knight reached into the pocket of his slacks and withdrew the golden bullets.

 

Susie’s jaw dropped. “When did you—”

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t have put your back to me.”

 

M’Lady put a hand on the King’s shoulder and murmured something beneath her breath. With a grumble, the King pulled out a pair of handcuffs and approached Susie, who slowly raised her hands. M’Lady moved close and patted Meta Knight’s shoulder. “Ssh,” she said, taking Kirby’s hand.

 

She helped him to the floor. “When you wake, everything will be fine,” she murmured. “Dear boy, you’ll be fine.”

 

“But wai—”

 

Kirby fell limp in her arms. His eyelids fluttered, and he fell into a deep and dreamless slumber.

 

* * *

 

 

The world was too bright. Kirby whined from deep in his throat and winced. Mercifully, the lights dimmed.

 

“Hey, it’s okay, pipsqueak.”

 

Kirby blinked, trying to force the room into focus. He saw a spiked, silver mask and a pair of blue eyes. He recognized the King at once, although Kirby was having difficulty in registering anything beyond the name.

 

“Meta Knight?” Kirby finally asked.

 

“He’s okay,” the King said. “I know he got held hostage and all, but he’s pretty tough.”

 

Kirby nodded, although he couldn’t really speak for Meta Knight’s strength. He shifted, clenched and unclenched his fingers. He was in a bed. No, not just a bed. A _bedroom_.

 

“Is this…your house?” Kirby asked.

 

The King boomed in laughter. “I ain’t telling you,” he replied, “And you’ll be blindfolded when you leave. Knightmare’s taking you out.”

 

That sounded very serial killer to Kirby, but, then, these were people with secret identities.

 

“I suppose that makes sense. Thank you for helping me. I…I was in over my head.”

 

“It happens,” the King answered, “But you oughta think long and hard ‘bout whether this superhero game is something you wanna pursue. Sometimes, it’s rewarding, and sometimes, you get abducted and wake up with stitches for an injury you cain’t remember getting.”

 

Kirby sat upright, flinching at the sharp jolt of pain, and stared at the stark line of stitches down his thigh. “Yeah,” he said. “But it must be worth it—to you, anyway. You’ve been doing this a while.”

 

The King shrugged. “That don’t mean it’s for everyone.”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Hey, while I’m thinking about it, where’d you get this tattoo?” the King asked.

 

The King’s fingertips lighted on Kirby’s wrist. There was the faint outline of _K-7089_ , the barely visible remnant of a tattoo removed long ago. “You won’t believe me,” Kirby said.

 

“I know a gal that can summon fire outta nothing.”

 

That was a very good point.

 

“I don’t actually remember. I don’t remember a lot of things.”

 

The King’s eyes narrowed. “What d’you mean you cain’t remember? How d’you forget a freaking tattoo?”

 

“I remember high school,” Kirby continued, “But nothing before. I…I used to think that was normal, but now I know it isn’t. Most people remember their pasts.”

 

“Yeah, and you’re what? Eighteen?”

 

“Nineteen in two weeks.”

 

“Yeah, that ain’t normal,” the King said. “Huh. You—uh—ever tried to figure out why?”

 

Kirby sighed. “Yeah, but it’s been difficult.”

 

“Hm. Well, maybe I gotta guy that can help with that,” the King said. “We’ll getcha something to eat, and then, you’re going on your way, Kirbs. Bathroom’s to the right, but don’t even think ‘bout leaving this room. The walls got ears.”

 

Kirby nodded. With a wink and a flippant wave, the King sauntered from the room and closed the door behind him. The clicking of the lock seemed purposefully loud. Kirby let out a ragged breath and drifted off to sleep again.

 

* * *

 

It took a week for Kirby to return to the opera, but it seemed that the opera hadn’t been willing to wait. Upon arrival, he learned that he’d been unceremoniously fired because of the extended absence. He’d called to inform everyone he’d be absent, and Kirby knew he could probably fight it out if he really wanted to. But it wasn’t worth the effort.

 

He nearly missed Meta Knight with two glasses of wine. Kirby stopped abruptly, wondering if he should approach him. Maybe Meta Knight didn’t even want to talk. He _had_ been held hostage.

 

However, Kirby’s fears washed away in Meta Knight’s slight smile. “Hello, Kirby,” he said.

 

“You’re back so soon.”

 

“Well, surely, the odds aren’t good that I’d be held hostage _twice_ while watching _The Man of La Mancha_ ,” Meta Knight said. “Statistically, this should be the safest place in town.”

 

“Ah, there you are!”

 

A radiant woman, who looked to be about Meta Knight’s age, in a scarlet gown and fur wrap approached. Her blonde hair fell past her shoulders in a mass of elegant, shining curls. Her dark skin was broken with stars of gold-beige across her cheeks and nose; she looked like the night sky sprinkled with starlight. It took Kirby a few seconds to meet her brown-red eyes, carefully accentuated with gold eyeshadow.

 

Meta Knight beamed at her and offered one of the glasses. Her lips curved into a smile as she took it.

 

“Kirby Stellarum, this is Galaxia Rosales,” Meta Knight said.

 

“Kirby…oh, aren’t you the pastry chef?” Galaxia asked.

 

“Dishwasher,” Kirby amended.

 

“Meta Knight spoke highly of you,” Galaxia explained.

 

Kirby felt his face and ears redden with embarrassment. He thought self-consciously of the stitches on his thigh. “Oh. That was so nice!” Kirby replied.

 

Galaxia put the back of her hand against her companion’s cheek. Meta Knight closed his eyes and tilted his head, leaning into the touch. Galaxia smiled, evidently pleased with his reaction, and took a sip of her wine. “He’s the only man I trust to bring me drinks,” Galaxia said. “What is it?”

 

“Rosé,” Meta Knight replied.

 

Galaxia moved her hand beneath his jaw and placed a quick kiss on his cheek; her gold, glittering lipstick left a mark right along his cheekbone. “Well, you might not be Knightmare or the Masked King, but you are still _so_ terribly thoughtful and wonderfully handsome, dear heart,” Galaxia said. “Come on, now! Have you told Kirby the surprise yet?”

 

 _Surprise_?

 

Meta Knight smiled and gazed fondly up at Galaxia. “Kirby,” Meta Knight said, reaching into his tuxedo jacket and pulling out a business card. “I think you should come work for me.”

 

Kirby gawked at the business card. It read _Nocturne Enterprises_ in silver, embossed font. Beneath was the name _Meta Knight Nocturne de Brillante Armadura, CEO_. Nocturne. _Nocturne_?

 

“You’re…offering me a job?” Kirby asked.

 

“Well, you’ll need to interview first, and I’d like to see your skills before I commit. I am, however, in the market for a pastry chef. If you’re interested, it might be a foot in the door, so to speak,” Meta Knight said. “Cooking for me might be a little more interesting than washing dishes.”

 

Did Meta Knight know Kirby had just lost his job? This was unbelievable.

 

“Oh, dear heart! I’d forgotten this lipstick is terrible at staying,” Galaxia said, swiping her thumb over Meta Knight’s cheek. “I fear that gold is more my color than yours.”

 

“I’m happy to wear anything that belongs to my dear Galaxia,” Meta Knight said. “The color gold included. I’d say it matches my eyes.”

 

Galaxia laughed. “We must be going, darling. Have a lovely day, Kirby.”

 

“Yes. We could use someone with your determination and confectionary talents,” Meta Knight said. “Look us up. We’re on the stock exchange.”

 

Meta Knight winked and offered Galaxia his arm. Kirby watched, not entirely sure what to make of the two of them. For a man who’d been held hostage a week before, Meta Knight seemed bizarrely unfazed by it. Kirby toyed with the business card, kneading it between his fingers. A foot in the door provided by Meta Knight _Nocturne_ seemed a little too good to be true.

 

* * *

 

 

Meta Knight Nocturne de Brillante Armadura stood in silence before the cemetery. It was dark and settled with autumn leaves. He took a deep breath and adjusted the bouquet of marigolds and carnations from one arm to the other. Meta Knight knew the way well. He was alone, accompanied only by the crunching of freshly fallen leaves and the wind’s whispers. His feet led him to where he needed to be, and he knelt, bowing respectfully by the final resting place of Nightmare Nocturne.

 

Meta Knight’s mother had disappeared when he was thirteen, and Nightmare had tried gamely to be both the mother and father Meta Knight needed. He’d been a man who’d spent most of his son’s childhood being distant and unpleasable. He’d run his company and taken month-long business trips alone, and suddenly, he was left with a snarky adolescent that he barely knew. It’d been awkward, and Nightmare’s short temper had led to several shouting matches. But somehow, they made it work.

 

The terrible night his father died, Meta Knight had been drugged and kidnapped for Haltmann Works’s experiments. He’d been collared and caged like a wild animal and experimented on until M’Lady had put an end to it. Meta Knight still remembered the humiliation of sobbing at her feet because he’d been in that tiny cage for so long that he couldn’t walk when she asked him to, and he was so ashamed to cry at being _rescued._ But Galaxia— _dear_ Galaxia—had been the first person in months to treat him like a young adult rather than a _thing_. She’d spoken so tenderly to him and carried him out. Then, she’d held him and tried to smooth the tangles and mats in his hair while they waited for the police to arrive and settle everything properly.

 

Meta Knight would’ve liked to say that the death of his parents and his experimentation had sparked a fiery desire for justice within him and led to his vigilante career, but that wasn’t it. He’d just wanted to pretend to be someone else for a few hours every night. He didn’t want the loneliness, the crying spells, or the nightmares. He didn’t want the media storm detailing everything he’d gone through. He didn’t want to be the shattered, emotional creature that had once _been_ Meta Knight.

 

And somehow, Meta Knight had managed to pick up the shattered remains of his life before Haltmann Works and create a new one with the help of his newfound friends. He became accustomed to Galaxia’s quick affection and later to Dedede’s enthusiasm and energy. Sometimes, Meta Knight thought that sounded far too cheesy to be his reality, but he wouldn’t trade Galaxia and Dedede’s love and attention for anything in the world.

 

Meta Knight heard crunching leaves and looked over his shoulder. Dedede, in his favorite red robe, stalked across the cemetery. With a sigh, Meta Knight placed the flowers carefully before the tombstone and sat back on his heels. “Hello, Father,” he murmured, brushing away the dirt from the polished stone.

 

“The old man would’ve been proud o’ you.”

 

Meta Knight inclined his head, acknowledging the words. “Did Galaxia tell you to come find me?”

 

“No, she’s watching the police interrogate Haltmann. Galaxia thinks she surrendered too easy and that there’s something else going on. I just knew what day it was.”

 

The downside to being friends with Dedede was that he knew Meta Knight entirely too well.

 

“And I thought you might be feeling kinda outta sorts after the thing with Haltmann. ‘Course, your stubborn ass wouldn’t admit that.”

 

“I’ve endured worse.”

 

“Just ‘cause you once broke your leg don’t mean it’s okay if someone slaps you ‘cause you’ve done felt worse. And for Nova’s sake, you’d say you was alright if someone cut your freaking hand off!”

 

Meta Knight nodded his head in acknowledgment. “That’s fair,” Meta Knight said. “You’re right.”

 

“Well, ‘course I is. I ain’t the brightest man there is, but I know all ‘bout your pigheadedness.”

 

“I prefer _tenacity_.”

 

Dedede rolled his eyes.

 

“You know I’m a proud man,” Meta Knight said. “I dislike asking for favors.”

 

Dedede gasped and put a hand on his chest. “Really? I hadn’t noticed!”

 

“Hilarious.”

 

Dedede smirked, but, all the same, sat beside Meta Knight and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, drawing him close. “What d’you need, schnookums?” Dedede asked.

 

“Would you be able to stay over with me tonight?”

 

“Yeah, long as I get to raid your fridge.”

 

Meta Knight sighed. “Thank  you.”

 

“Maybe you oughta look in on the kid, eh?” Dedede asked. 

 

“Kirby _is_ interesting. We have similar tattoos and a fondness for fantasy hair colors,” Meta Knight said. “And evidently, he’s working his way through culinary school. Do you think he fancies a job with a good salary and health insurance?”

 

“You got an opening?”

 

“No, but I’ve already offered him a job. So I’ll make an opening,” Meta Knight replied, smiling mischievously. “Just for him.”

 

* * *

 

 

The shadow gazed down upon Meta Knight’s sleeping face. He watched Meta Knight’s chest rise and fall benignly and expectedly beneath the blankets. When had Meta Knight grown into such a lovely, young man? The shadow raised a hand and gently threaded his fingers through Meta Knight’s soft hair.

 

Meta Knight’s eyes snapped open, and the shadows shifted away. He sat upright and took a shuddering breath. His eyes settled on the place where the shadows were, and the wizard waited to see if he’d be caught. Slowly, Meta Knight slipped from the bed and approached. He tilted his head, as if confused, and pressed forward. The shadow waited to see if Meta Knight would figure it out. Meta Knight raised a hand, his fingers a hairsbreadth from the shadow. “Father?” Meta Knight whispered.

 

“Meta Knight?” Dedede asked.

 

Slowly, Meta Knight lowered his hand and hung his head. “I’m sorry I woke you,” Meta Knight said. “It was…a bad dream. A nightmare. I think.”

 

When Meta Knight raised his head again, his face looked tired and worn beyond his years. The shadow faltered. This was a bit of indulgence that should’ve never happened, but he’d just wanted to _see_ him. Just to be sure that he was still breathing and that the Haltmann woman hadn’t hurt him as badly this time as she had the last time. He’d just wanted to ruffle Meta Knight’s hair and kiss his forehead just _once_.

 

“Come back to sleep,” Dedede said. “C’mon, Meta.”

 

Slowly, Meta Knight returned to bed and settled back beneath the blankets. Dedede rolled over and nuzzled Meta Knight’s neck. “Mm. I’ll protect ya from any nightmares,” Dedede murmured.

 

“But I am one,” Meta Knight whispered.

 

The shadow smiled to itself. The poor boy really had no idea how right he was.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just for fun, have some headcanons:
> 
> *Galaxia really hates the superhero name the press gave her, but despite her best efforts, she can't get everyone on board with calling her something else.
> 
> *Dedede and Meta Knight's superhero alter egos pretend to absolutely hate each other. This is partly to keep people from figuring out who they are and partly because it's fun.
> 
> *Nightmare was actually a decent father in this universe, but he was still involved in some very shady dealings.
> 
> *Galaxia's powers come from the magic that runs in her family. Her mother, now deceased, could see the future and may have secretly used those powers to amass a significant amount of wealth. 
> 
> *Meta Knight has no powers of his own and instead relies on the many magical artifacts Nightmare left laying around the house.
> 
> *Bandanna Dee is the "unknown journalist" to whom Galaxia gave the Haltmann story to. Doing so helped jumpstart Bandanna Dee's career, and as such, he's developed an amicable relationship with several of the kingdom's vigilantes.


End file.
